


Fine

by ScorpionSucker



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, Sorry Not Sorry, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScorpionSucker/pseuds/ScorpionSucker
Summary: My first work so it's shit, sorry hahaEngineer is sick





	Fine

The world was spinning. Engineer rested his head in his hands. He sat in the locker room, the silent buzzing of the fluorescent lights loud in his ears. His stomach was flipping itself inside out. He opened his mouth, gagging slightly. A bucket was sitting on the floor in front of him, it could of possibly been the bucket spy had failed to collect the mercenary’s last wishes in months ago. He couldn't be certain. He also couldn't think straight, which worried him slightly. He was an engineer, he solved practical problems, not stomach problems. He tried to force the vomit up his throat by squeezing his abdomen, but was barely able to make himself burp. He whimpered slightly, saliva dripping from his open mouth into the bucket, the hollow sound filling his ears. He dry heaved, desperately trying to successfully empty his stomach. He felt horrible, and he wanted to vomit. You always feel better after you vomit right? He didn't want to vomit. He wanted this to go away. He burped wetly, more saliva that had pooled in his mouth dripping into the bucket. He felt disgusting. He dry heaved again. He ripped his goggles off, feeling sticky with sweat and halfway between freezing and boiling, shaking violently. He burped again, the sound bouncing around in the echo-y room. Nausea racked his body. He looked at his hands, he could try and make himself vomit. He stopped thinking about anything of the sort as soon as he had started. If he needed to vomit, he would. Would he? Would suffering now be better than powering through it? What if he didn't feel better after vomiting? He burped again. Nothing was helping. He swallowed. His mouth felt dry despite all the saliva that had collected in it. He opened his mouth, shutting it nearly milliseconds later. What was he, a child? He should grow up, just vomit and be over with it. He burped again. This was hell. He really had died from the tumours and the bread monster was just a fiction of his imagination. The Devil had made hell replicate his normal life just so it could lead up to this moment. Should he get medic? A sickly burp escaped his lips. His head was spinning faster than a carnival ride. Why couldn't he think of a solution? All traces of his natural ability to solve problems had left him. He felt stupid. Maybe it was a nightmare. Maybe it was poison and he was about to die any second. He burped again, this time almost coming close to vomiting. His throat felt tight when he tried to swallow. Another burp. He felt like shooting himself. The thought of death brought sick images into his mind of the twisted and mangled corpses of other mercenaries he had killed, some that looked exactly like him. It had never bothered him before. Why was it making his dinner rise in his throat? He had felt ill before dinner, but had forced himself to eat anyway. He hadn't felt this bad. No one had noticed his absence. Why did that upset him? Did he want to be comforted like a child? He burped again. Sickly sweet air passing up his throat and over his tongue. What had he done to get sick? What had he eaten? Were the others ill to? He dry heaved, doubling over from the force of it. He didn't want to vomit. He felt awful. Disgusting. He just wanted to hear something other than the buzzing of the lights. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to lay down. He didn't want to feel sick. He was a shivering, burping mess. He was weak and disgusting. None of the other mercenaries would care. They're cold blooded killers. He was a cold blooded killer. Why did he feel so sick? He let out a choked sob. He really was weak. More thoughts of the bodies filled his mind. He burped again, a small amount of liquid rising up the back of his throat and into his mouth. He swallowed it back down. He should feel fine why wasn't he fine? He couldn't keep a steady train of thought. He heaved, a thin stream of half digested food pouring up his throat and splashing into the bucket. He retched again and doubled over, this time was much more forceful. He swallowed the remaining vomit in his mouth. He had barely vomited anything up, the bucket wasn't even a quarter full. He felt worse. He felt worse. He burped. He was being tested. No one had noticed his absence. Why'd he feel hurt by that? He had vomit running down his chin. He wiped his face sloppily with his ungloved hand. He was a disgusting mess. He didn't care. His head was spinning. He felt like he was on a boat, rocking back and forth. He wasn't on a boat. 

“Engie?” Engineer didn't look up. “Engie, are you in here?” It sounded like Soldier. “Engie? You've been missing for a while now and- oh.” Engineer still didn't look up. “Uh, are you alright?” Engineer gagged on his words. No talking. Soldier sat beside him and put his hand on his back. That was nice of him. Engineer burped into his own vomit covered hand, feeling twice as sick all of a sudden. He doubled over, heaving violently. Sick splattered into the bucket, splashing up the sides. Soldier still had his hand on Engineer's back. He retched again, how was he this sick? The bucket was almost full, and quite a bit had splashed up over the edge. Engineer hadn't felt this sick in years. Engineer hadn't felt this sick ever. “Are you done?” Soldier asked. Engineer didn't respond. He wasn't done. He still felt horrible. Absolutely horrible. Soldier stood up, looking back worriedly as he walked away. Engineer didn't look up. He burped again, vomit dripping into the already almost full bucket. He was going to clean that, as soon as his vision wasn't doubling on it's self. If his vision stopped doubling on itself. He hiccuped, spitting into the bucket again. He wondered where soldier had gone. He didn't care. He felt even worse. Why did his stomach still feel full? He'd vomited up anything that should of been in his stomach. The vomit was a strange, brownish-green colour and had no chunks in it. What had he eaten that would be that color? He gagged slightly, his throat was sticky and sore from vomiting. He didn't want to walk to the medbay, let alone have Medic “help” him. He didn't want a new stomach, or, or any other kind of strange transplants. He didn't want the world to keeping tipping over. His stomach twisted itself again, forcing up more of the brownish-green substance to join the previously expelled liquid. He heaved once more, the bucket overflowing and pouring the extra liquid down the sides and onto the floor. Engineer hiccuped, wiping his face again. Soldier had probably went and told the entire team. They were all judging him and he could feel it. He was a spineless loser, everything they were hypothetically saying was true. Engineer hadn't notice the footsteps until the feet that were making them were right in front of him. A boot pushed the already full bucket off to the left of him, spreading the sick around even more. A new bucket was placed in front of him as Soldier sat back down beside him, not saying a word. Soldier was usually brutally loud, he wasn't talking because he was judging Engineer, he could feel it. “I brought water,” soldier said, his voice actually lowering to somewhat of an indoor volume. “Do you want to try and drink some?” Engineer shivered slightly at the thought of trying to keep anything down. “I'll take that as a no.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing really anything, so it's Garbage.


End file.
